


And In the Night, I Dream of You

by TheLastWhiteRose



Category: Historical RPF, New Politics, Political RPF - US 21st c.
Genre: An act against god, Cringe, God kill me now, M/M, Mild Swearing, OOC
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-28
Updated: 2020-10-28
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:55:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27253006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLastWhiteRose/pseuds/TheLastWhiteRose
Summary: Sleepless nights are a staple of the election, especially if you’re only six days out and also you’re having an affair with the other candidate.Alternatively titled: God gave me this writing talent to create abominations
Relationships: Joe Biden/Donald Trump
Comments: 5
Kudos: 18





	And In the Night, I Dream of You

**Author's Note:**

> This is the last Joe Biden/Donald Trump fanfiction I will write. I promise. I just needed to get this off my chest.

2:39 AM, proclaims the red glow of the hotel alarm clock. Biden groans softly, turning his face away from the ghastly intrusion. It’s much too early to start his day, and he forces his restless thoughts to quiet, so that he may get at least an hour of sleep. 

It doesn’t work. 

2:47 AM, proclaims the unyielding white light of his phone. Joe vaguely remembers hearing something about how the white light of cell phones was meant to simulate daylight, which messes with the circadian rhythm. Not that he uses his cell phone much these days, with the campaign and all. He tends to stay away from social media, especially with the Hunter situation. 

He tries not to antagonize the Republican Party. Joe personally knows several members of the Republican Party that are wonderful people. But to weaponize a son against his own father, to make him choose between his own flesh and blood and the most powerful position in the country was abhorrent. 

Out of habit, he swipes to the phone icon, his finger briefly hovering over Donald’s name. He knows he shouldn’t, not this close to the election, but he can’t help the urge to hear his voice. Before he can contemplate the issue further, his body decides for him, swiftly tapping the call button.

It rings only once. 

“Hello?” Donald’s gruff tenor echoes in the quiet room. He doesn’t sound even the slightest bit tired, and Biden quirks a smirk at that. Looks like he’s not the only one who can’t sleep.

For a moment, Joe relishes in the feeling of talking to a loved one. It’s like fitting in an old pair of jeans, snug and warm, and he knows that even after this nightmare is over, he will always drift towards him. Like a moth towards a flame. 

“H-h-“ Joe takes a moment to compose himself. The stutter rears its ugly head every once in a while, especially over the phone. “Hello, Donald.” 

“Good morning, Sleepy Joe.” Donald says, and the abrasive tone the nickname initially held is gone, diluted into barely concealed affection. “Why are you calling so late? I thought your geriatric ass was asleep by nine.” 

Joe chuckles at that. Donald calls him geriatric as if he wasn’t only four years younger than him. It reminds him that he’s too old for this kind of stress, that he should’ve just let Buttigieg and Klobuchar duke it out, but he couldn’t. He is the best chance the Democrats have against ending Donald Trump’s reign. 

“Couldn’t sleep. Wanted to talk to someone guaranteed to sound dumber than me.” Joe decides on, and the bluster Trump gives is one for the ages.

It’s natural to fall into this rhythm with Donald, as natural as breathing air. Whether they’re inches apart, pressed so close that they’re practically breathing the same air, or thousands of miles away, Joe knows that his thoughts will always drift to Donald. It’s dangerous, especially six days before the election, but he’s never lived on the margins before. At 78, he may as well try. 

When they finally stop talking, the light of the dawn seeps through the thin curtains of Joe’s hotel room, and the alarm clock—whose once eerie red glow has softened to a dull throb—proclaims it is 6:34 AM.

**Author's Note:**

> If you liked this, kudos and comments are appreciated!


End file.
